


42

by orphan_account



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Attempt, be safe loves, dont read if this affects you negatively, please please be careful reading this. big trigger warning, vent fic lololol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 12:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16492496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Never good enough, he’s never felt like he’s been good enough.





	42

**Author's Note:**

> hihi so this is my first fic :-)) please please b cautious reading this, if talks of being suicidal affects you badly, pls don’t keep reading. stay safe. sry for this i rlly needed to let off some steam sry chan

Bang Chan hates being alone. 

Yet once again, he sneaks himself out into ungodly hours of the night, wasting away the rest of his energy on a computer, on composing, making sure everything was perfect. Everything has to be perfect. 

Perfect, perfect, perfect. 

If it’s not perfect, Bang Chan couldn’t deal with the blame laying on his shoulders when the fans are disappointed. So he ignores his phone blowing up of worried messages from the members, throws on his coat and saves his work. He shoves his headphones in, hopefully drowning out his thought process. But to no avail he leaves his studio, mind dull yet racing at the same time. The music more like background noise than a distraction. 

Everything has to be perfect. Or it’s not good enough. Chan isn’t perfect, so he’s not good enough. He’s not good enough for any of this, not good enough for leader, not worthy for this group. Never good enough, he’s never felt he’s been good enough. He’s better off gone. 

That’s what he tells himself, briskly strolling the chill streets of Seoul with a bitter smile and boiling tears running down his sunken in cheeks. 

Bang Chan hates being alone, hates the feeling of the wind judging him as it scratches its way into his eyes, sneaking through the holes in his jeans across his skin, leaving its mark as stinging as his thoughts. 

He hates how the cars on the road seem to be louder than normal, hates how the tightening in his chest worsens. Hates how he hears his footsteps in his ears, his body feels too heavy. He hates how he’s so sad he’s empty, he feels like doubling over and vomiting out his guts, although no more than stomach acid would come out. Hates the way the city looks so sickeningly beautiful from the highest building he knew the way up to. Hates how the sky seems like every star is mocking him.

He doesn’t know the reactions of the members to the note he left on his desk in his studio, doesn’t know of the countless missed calls, of the heartbreak, of the frantic searching. 

Yet in return, the members don’t know the sheer bliss he felt letting his right foot slip off that ledge. 

Bang Chan hates being alone, but maybe eternally alone yet gone, he won’t be as much of a burden on his members, his family, his fans, himself. 

He whispers an apology into the air for not being better for them. Not being good enough or strong enough for them, for himself. Yet it merely sweeps away with the breeze. He takes one more glance into the darkness of the sky. He basks in the way the harsh wind forces him down quicker, as if in mutual agreement with his actions. As those sparkling stars disappear from his vision, he reaches the form where he finally views himself as perfect.


End file.
